


Power Without Peer - A Hector x Tharja "Support" Fic

by redshirtontherock



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken | Fire Emblem: Blazing Sword
Genre: Armads, Crack, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, S-Support, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 07:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10962279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redshirtontherock/pseuds/redshirtontherock
Summary: Hector and Tharja, 'nuff said!  My take on the C, B, A, and S support conversations between the axe-wielding lord and the dark shadow herself. (Since FE: Heroes is a breeding ground for crack ships, here, have a crack ship!)





	1. C-Support: Hector's Shadow

The Askrian mess hall was generally fairly busy this time of day. Most of the army had been either on watch at the portal gates or engaged with the summoner at the Training Tower, honing their abilities in the event that the castle was invaded again by the Emblian forces, or in the event that the Emblians struck somewhere else. Lord Hector, of Ostia, for his part felt the Training Tower, even the higher floors, hardly presented him with a challenge, and so had been spending the better part of his morning and afternoon at the arena, dueling away with several of the others who had started to find the tower...somewhat lacking.

Ryoma, from the realm of...Birthright, was it?...had presented a fair challenge, and the two had sparred a good few rounds. Effie, despite being a lance user, and against whom Hector would have thought he'd achieve an easy victory, proved to be surprisingly resilient. Ike, though – Ike was the warrior with whom, in the arena, he'd started to cultivate something of a friendly rivalry with, and he'd greatly started to look forward to their matches.

This particular morning, however, had seemed tempered despite the high energy and spirit of the duels, and despite the challenge that Ike and the others had presented. Hector found himself almost constantly looking over his shoulder, pausing in mid-swing or mid-step to look around alertly and cautiously, which was...generally not his nature in the slightest. It wasn't something he could put a finger on, or something he could put a name to, but he felt a chill up his spine as if someone were following him, or as if someone were watching him.

It was an unnerving sensation, one that reminded him far too much of Matthew for his liking.

He smirked at the thought, as he moved up to the serving counter at long last, having waded through the line leading up to the foodstuffs long enough. He filled up his place with game fowl, potatoes, gravy, and a few cooked carrots. It was hardly the healthiest meal, but he was confident he'd have it worked off fully within a few rounds at the arena with his rivals. He was placing the last spoonful of steamed vegetables, carrots, onto his plate when he paused and looked over his shoulder again, sharply and a little gruffly.

Xander was standing there, in the...curious Spring garments that he'd adopted during Ylisse's Spring Festival, and motioned a little blandly to the tray that Hector was presently helping himself to.

“Lord Hector, I hope you'll be saving some measure of carrots for the rest of us?” he asked, flatly.

Hector ignored the crown prince, peering over him and past him and still frowning with just a hint of a scowl. He could still feel it. There was still that chill running down his spine, and there was still that...uncomfortable sensation of being spied upon.

“Yes, I was...just finishing up,” Hector grumbled before he put the lid back on the tray and stepped back from the serving counter. The Ostian lord didn't even bother to retrieve a drink, finding the most solitary table that he could find, dropping down into a chair, and placing his plate down in front of him. He sighed a little as he reached for his utensils, hoping that the afternoon mean would calm his nerves or at the very least present him with a distraction.

His ears perked at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him, and off slightly to the side. His eyes narrowed slightly, and out of the corner of his eye he started to spot a figure in a long, dark cloak with golden trim approach. Her hair was long, and had a pair of odd, short tails to either side, and she wore a circlet that momentarily left him questioning whether she was perhaps one of the lords from one of the realms joined to Askr by portals, or if she might be of some noble standing. The one details, however, that Hector picked up on as he eyed her was that her gaze was...unwaveringly, closely fixed on him.

_So,_ he found himself thinking dryly to himself, _You're the one._

Hector took a few idles bites out of a chicken leg, probably having eaten about half the meat off the drumstick as the woman circled to the opposite side of the weather, adopting a too-friendly and much-too polite series of movements and mannerisms in the process. Almost right away, Hector eyed her with suspicion, an eyebrow arched as she moved to stand opposite him, raising a hand up to her mouth for a moment as if feigning surprise.

“My,” she spoke in a light tone that sounded nothing less than forced, “What benign weather we're having, Lord...Hector, is it?” She tilted her head, looking to him curiously and...still watching him with that uncomfortable, unwavering stare. She had a plate of food of her own, with about half the contents of Hector's. Then again, there were few in the mess hall, save for Effie and a few others, who ever rivalled what Hector had on his tray.

There was an uncomfortable silence as Hector watched her skeptically, not wanting to leave her inquiry unanswered but still feeling apprehensive they exchanged gazes.

“I...guess?” he finally shrugged.

The woman smiled at this slightly and chuckled, still with her hand up to her lips. He couldn't quite say why, or what it was about the laugh, but there was something almost unnerving about it.

“Would it trouble you if I took a seat?” the woman inquired, curiously, motioning to the chair across from Hector.

Hector's eyebrow stayed arched and he motioned out with a sweeping gesture of his hand to the rest of the table, and to the rest of the hall.

“It's a free table,” he answered a little gruffly, “And Askr's a free country.”

He watched as she took a seat, her motions smooth and refined in their own way, but her eyes staying locked on him. He continued to find this unsettling, and as he took a couple more bites of his meal an awkward silence followed until finally, having had enough of the unspoken and uninitiated staring contest, Hector cleared his throat a little sharply.

“...you're staring,” he pointed out.

A hand moved to the mage's mouth in feigned surprise again, just as it had been before. It was only now that Hector noticed a ring along the middle finger that joined to what looked like it might have been some kind of arm-warmer or sleeve when he realized it was the same thin, virtually see-through garment, a form-fitting stocking, that covered the rest of her body, save for where the chestpiece, belt, cloak, and other scant garments were positioned. His cheeks turned slightly rosy at the realization, despite himself.

“Am I?” the woman asked, still feigning surprise and snapping Hector's attention back to the situation at hand.

Hector shrugged casually, still not altogether sure what to make of the oddly-dressed mage, and responding in his usual gruff, informal fashion. “Either that,” he pointed out, “Or you're trying to burn a hole in me with your eyes. And if you are, sorceress, it's not working.”

It was less the fact that she continued staring, and more the delayed pause that followed his statement that left Hector feeling unnerved as she neglected to respond. After a few seconds, her hand still up to her lips, she chuckled softly and lightly, feigning surprise as she finally moved her hand back down to rest next to her tray.

“Oh!” she smiled, a little eerily, “My...sincerest apologies. I...must have gotten distracted.”

Hector glanced down to his plate and took a few bites, hoping that perhaps if he just ignored the odd mage that she'd leave him be, or that she might...at the very least stop staring. He knew that even here in Askr, he had something of an elevated or...almost mythical status among other heroes and lords, as much as he was bothered by this ascribed reputation. He wondered if that status perhaps that had something to do with the mage's behaviour.

He glanced up at her again, his mouth full of chicken, and noticed that she still hadn't broken her stare. The mage was sitting across from him in identical fashion to how she'd been doing so before, her eyes still solidly fixed on him. Hector frowned, and let out a deep sigh, and – grasping for an out, or for something to at least ease the awkwardness – motioned to her plate, which was still as full as it had been when she left the serving counter.

“Maybe you should eat something,” Hector pointed out, dryly, “Like the plate of food you haven't touched since you sat down.”

The mage continued staring a few seconds longer, tilting her head slightly and watching him almost like now she was...looking for something, or studying him for something. Her stare had shifted from his eyes and started to move about his form, his armor, almost as if she were trying to burn every detail into her mind for later recollection.

Hector cleared his throat, trying to get her attention. His initial unease with her staring was gradually, and increasingly, replaced with annoyance.

“Food - ?” she blurted, as if jolted out of her reverie, scrambling to fill the dead air, “Oh, of course. Delightful. I'll get to it...shortly.” Her hands didn't move, however, and she showed no intention of actually reaching for the plate.

Hector rolled his eyes, and took a few more bites of his meal. He'd mostly finished off the chicken by this point and was moving on to some of the potatoes that he'd retrieved. Part of him considered moving tables but then there was a part of him that would almost...count that as a retreat, and stubbornly refused to back down from any foe – even this eerie, odd mage.

He looked up at her once more after swallowing the mouthful of potatoes, his lips curled in a frown as he saw that she was still staring, and saw that she still hadn't touched her plate.

“Sorceress?” Hector asked, flatly and a little impatiently.

“...yes?” she responded, still staring at him and seeming almost entranced, or intrigued.

“You're still staring,” Hector pointed out, matter-of-factly.

This time, for the first time since the entire exchange had started, the woman seemed to become moderately self-conscious, flushing at the cheeks slightly and leaning back slightly in her chair in retreat. She scoffed a little and looked off to the side, shrugging her shoulders.

“You must be mistaken,” she remarked, off-handedly.

Hector's mouth fell open a little with disbelief, his eyes narrowing in irritation. Who did she think she was fooling, exactly? He took a deep breath and one of his hands on the table curled into a fist, as he started to grit his teeth.

“I'm /watching/ you stare at me, sorceress, and you're sitting three feet away – !” he snapped, about to fly into a tirade when suddenly another possibility occurred to him. It all suddenly made tremendous sense – the mage's denial, the way she'd been following around, the fact that she was so damnedly persistent.

“Wait,” Hector remarked, smirking, “I get it now. Heh. Heh heh. Well played...”

There was a very simple, concrete explanation for all of this, and Hector thought himself a fool for not having realized it sooner. He threw back his head a little and laughed, sighing deeply and then shaking his head.

The woman across the table from him simply seemed...confused. She was perplexed by the behaviour and slightly unnerved herself at the sudden laughter.

“Excuse me?” she asked slowly, and uncertainly, arching an eyebrow as she did so.

Hector leaned back in his chair, confidently crossing his arms and grinning smugly. It gave him great satisfaction to know that he'd cracked the code, and that he finally had a more solid idea of what was afoot here.

“Let me guess,” he snorted, “Eliwood put you up to this? Trying to spook me over lunch?”

The mage blinked a few times at this, seeming caught off guard by the suggestion. It took her a few seconds to remember who exactly Eliwood was in the first place, and she didn't seem to have the faintest clue why he would have been involved in this at all. He certainly hadn't come across as the type for jest.

“What - ?” she stammered, still seeming like she was on the defensive, “No - ! No one put me up to this -”

Hector rolled his eyes again and leaned forward, smirking and leaning over the table to face her with more confidence this time. If anything, she retreated slightly, almost recoiling as if suddenly cornered.

“You don't have to keep up the act,” Hector noted dryly, “It wasn't going to work anyways. I'm not afraid of anything, or anyone.” He meant it. There was very little that Hector of Ostia feared – and eerie sorceresses were nowhere on that short, short list.

The mage was quiet and looked like she was about to respond when...she seemed to notice another detail and was right back to staring at him as quickly as she'd stopped before. Several awkward seconds passed without any words exchanged, and Hector's irritation gradually started to return, as he finally picked up his mostly empty plate, tapping his index finger against the wooden table as he did.

“Right,” he sighed, “Well, I'm gonna go give him hell for this. He should know better. See you around, sorceress.” He got up without allowing much, if any chance, for response or argument. The mage was silent, which didn't especially surprise Hector at this point, and he could practically feel her eyes on him as he turned and started to stalk away towards the serving counter to return the plate to the kitchen.

Hector needed to go and have a serious chat with a certain Marquess of Pherae.

Still sitting at the table, Tharja's face finally turned from a mask of innocence to a dark, frustrated scowl. Both of her hands, in her lap, started to curl into fists, gripping bunches of her cape in aggravation as she took deep breaths, and started to shake her head.

“...how?” she murmured, to herself, ignoring the rest of the hall for a moment in her reflections, as she tried to put her finger down on what she'd just witnessed. This made no sense, and was...absolutely going to warrant further investigation.

“How is this... _blowhard_ the locus of the raw, ancient power I sense? Clearly I've made a mistake,” she frowned, as she moved to finally get up from the table as well. The words were empty – she rarely made mistakes of this caliber, and knew that surely there had to be more to what she was certain she'd just observed. She eyed Hector as he started to move out one of the exits, stomping away like a disgruntled tavern patron about to start a barroom brawl.

Tharja, the dark shadow that she was, would be keeping a close eye on this one. Whoever...and whatever...he was.

 


	2. B Support: As Much Magic as a Fart in the Wind

Tharja had overheard from Lyn and Florina in the mess hall that Hector had made his way to the Training Tower, which served her just fine. It had been almost three days now since the dark mage had started to trail Hector, and she was gradually reaching her wits' end. There was absolutely nothing about Hector that led her to believe that he had any kind of magical prowess or power, and yet she had the unshakable impression that there was something ancient, and potent in him, or surrounding him.

There were few she had ever encountered who had exuded such an aura, and one of those very rare few was...

She shook thoughts of the tactician from her head. As welcome as such reflections were, generally speaking, now was hardly the time. She followed the stony corridors, well lit thanks to the windows to her left as she marched briskly through the corridor towards the tower. After a certain time, and hearing the telltale crash of metal against wood and stone, Tharja started to just follow her ears, since the crashing sounds of the weapon, and the grunts that joined it, were unquestionably Hector.

Tharja found him and practically had him cornered in one of the circular, stony training rooms that adjoined to the Training Tower itself. It seems that rather than fighting live opponents, Hector was practicing against spinning sparring dummies, wooden targets, and old decommissioned statues.

A grin started to curl across her lips as she drew nearer, and started to observe the surroundings. The area seemed for the moment to be unguarded by Askrian soldiers, and as she moved to the wall and...curiously peered into the room, stealthily, she noticed to her great contentment that there didn't seem to be anyone else practicing with Hector or keeping her company.

“Right,” a new voice spoke, lighter than Hector's and slightly more formal and refined, “If you want to talk about it again later, you know where to find me.”

Tharja's eyes widened and she moved abruptly to hide against the wall, her back to it as a noble with red hair, wearing blue, and keeping a sizeable blade to his waist, walked out and down the corridor of the castle, his cape trailing behind him as he walked. The mage's hand moved to her chest, her heart pounding frantically as Eliwood departed, seeming to be none the wiser to her presence.

She took a few slow, steeling breaths and then finally, mustering her courage, stepped into the room.

Hector was in the center of the room, and brought his axe down on a statue, cleaving one of its arms off and panting deeply. He moved to wipe sweat from his brow from the back of his hand. His back was to the mage at the door, and to the retreating Eliwood, and he didn't seem to be focused on anything but taking out his frustrations on the dummies and statues that the Askrians had filled the room up with for this purpose.

Tharja grinned. She had him right where he wanted him.

“Why, Lord Hector, is that you - ?” feigning sweetness and innocence in her tone as she stepped into the room.

“Huh?” Hector sputtered. Hector jumped for a moment, but quickly relaxed when he realized that it was just...the same mage who had been following him around the last few days. So far she'd seemed harmless enough, though her...persistence, and dedication to observing him was definitely starting to grate on his nerves. “Yeah, it's me,” he finally admitted with a shrug, steadying his arm and readying his axe again, “Just getting some practice in -”

Tharja raised a hand to her mouth, feigning innocence awhile longer, but instead of moving further into the room she remained right by the door. “And are you alone, by chance?” she inquired.

Hector blinked at the question, shrugging. If she was looking into the room even the slightest, he knew that she'd be able to see that he was. There was no one else here – the only other occupant had been Eliwood, who'd stepped out just after their conversation.

“...yes, I'm alone?” he pointed out, shrugging a little uncertainly, “But I'm kind of in the middle of -” He paused at hearing the door to the room slam shut, the ground shaking slightly at the force exerted upon it. His eyes narrowed as he heard the clicking of several mechanical devices along the door's very edge.

“Sorceress, are you locking the door?” he asked flatly, starting to turn around towards her.

Hector had not so much as the time to widen his eyes in shock as the Sorceress' hand was on him, pushing him back against the statue abruptly. In her main hand she held one of the conjured Raudrblades, and she had placed the edge of the warm, ethereal blade to the Ostian lord's throat.

“You're not leaving until I get answers,” she spoke, darkly and threateningly. Over the last few days, she'd had enough of the charade, of following him around and staying casual when the nature of that sheer, ancient power around Hector continued to elude her.

“What...?” Hector blurted, though...he didn't seem distressed in the slightest at the blade to his throat. He smirked after a moment, seeming almost...perfectly relaxed. “Ha - !” he called out, “You and Eliwood are persistent, sorceress.”

Of course, by this point he knew well enough to know that Eliwood was not involved – or if he was, he insisted on denying it far past the point where the joke had actually been amusing.

“Eliwood has nothing to do with this,” Tharja snapped, confirming the axe-wielder's suspicions. She took the blade from his throat after a moment, though she kept it at her side, watching him gravely and darkly. “The space around you is saturated with an ancient power. I demand to know why.”

Hector blinked dumbly at the statement and shrugged, holding up a hand a little helplessly.

“You demand...?” he asked, as realization started to wash over him slowly, and as he moved to hold out his weapon with his other hand, “Sorceress, you could have just asked. Here. Armads, my axe.”

Tharja paused at the realization that Hector was likely carrying a magically imbued weapon. She thought herself a fool for not having made the connection or the realization sooner – Hector always kept the axe with him, at all hours, even when he was parted from his armor. Even when he slept. Her eyes widened with wonder for a moment as she stepped closer to the axe, seeming almost entranced by it despite its relatively straightforward appearance.

“...this?” she murmured to herself, dismissing her Raudrblade and stepping nearer in curiosity, “Could this be the power I've been sensing?”

Hector smirked a little at this and shrugged his shoulders a little casually.

“Well, it's sure not me,” he pointed out, “I've got about as much magic as a fart in the wind.”

Tharja paused and stared up at him. He had the kind of brusque bluntness that reminded her right away of Basilio, or Vaike. Not that she'd ever minded either of the two, it was just...similar, and familiar.

“...how eloquent,” she noted, dryly.

Hector chuckled at the response and then held the weapon out with both hands, displaying it for her and letting Tharja have a closer glance over it.

“Armads,” he explained, “Is one of eight legendary weapons of Elibe, the continent I come from. These weapons were wielded by eight heroes during a war called The Scouring, against the dragons. Those heroes drove the dragons into another world through the Dragon's Gate.”

The room was deathly quiet save for their quiet breathing and Tharja's footsteps on stone as she approached, her eyes locked on the weapon. The closer that she came to it, the more she could feel that ancient power...that potent, dark energy just flowing through it, and flowing around them.

“So...” Tharja spoke, trying to connect his story to what she was sensing, “You are one of these eight heroes?”

Hector's lip curled a little and he threw his head back, with a hearty “HA - !”

Tharja jumped at the volume, and frowned at him slightly for having surprised her as she stepped back slightly.

“Ha ha ha, ha ha ha ha - !” Hector continued to boom, his chest shaking with the laughter, until he realized that the only echoes of cackling in the room were his own, and he cleared his throat a little sharply as he turned his eyes back to the startled sorceress. “Oh,” he pointed out, matter-of-factly, “You're...not laughing.”

Tharja's eyes narrowed with slight irritation. “No, I'm not,” she responded flatly.

Hector sighed slightly and set the axe down in front of him, resting his hands down on the butt and resting the head of it against the ground.

“That war was a thousand years ago, sorceress,” he explained soberly, “Greybeard Athos is about the only one of them still alive, and...he's old as dirt. Oh, and Bramimond.”

Tharja nodded slowly, in understanding, though her attention still seemed to be more on Armads than on the description. _I have no idea whatsoever who any of those people are_ , she thought to herself idly.

“And...yet,” she responded to him, once he'd finished speaking, stepping closer to the weapon again, “The power I sense in this weapon is still...fresh. Vibrant. Almost inconceivable. Almost. May I...inspect it?” She tilted her head slightly, and...despite herself, batted her eyelashes a little in the hopes that perhaps Hector might allow her to approach.

Hector smirked, finding the gesture comic by contrast more than anything else. The eye-bat was definitely at odds with the mage's general dark appearance and demeanor.

“Be my guest,” he shrugged.

Tharja grinned, and reached immediately for the hilt of the axe, which Hector released. The head of the axe stayed to the ground as if...pinned there by an invisible force. Tharja grimaced and started to pull on the hilt of the axe, first with one hand and then with two. She pushed against the ground with a foot, finding herself getting increasingly frustrated by her inability to pick up the powerful magical artifact.

“...I can't even /lift/ this - !” she growled, as she struggled, gritting her teeth. While she was hardly as strong as Sully, or Kjelle – or the Effie lass employed by the Askrians, whose strength was incomprehensible – lifting an axe, even one as large as this one, should have at the very least have been possible for her. “How is this...possible?” she grimaced.

Hector shrugged and then reached for the weapon, as Tharja finally gave up and released it. He lifted it off the ground almost effortlessly, and Tharja found herself staring at him almost enviously.

“Heh, because you don't choose this weapon, sorceress,” he pointed out, “The weapon chooses you.”

Tharja nodded in understanding, though she frowned at him all the same for having set her up to fail at picking it up. She supposed, in fairness, that given the fact that she'd entered the room threatening him at sword-point that this made them even. She'd let it go. This time.

“Quaint,” Tharja sighed, “In that case, just...hold it still while I examine it.”

Hector nodded in compliance, and moved to hold the axe out with both hands so that she could more closely inspect the entirety of the weapon. “As you wish,” he answered her.

The moment Tharja's fingers finally made contact with the head of the axe she shivered, feeling that dark, ancient energy course through her for a moment, or at least...make contact with her. She grinned a little eerily, but there was something sated and content in the grin as well, and...she found her fingers starting to trail almost admiringly over the flat of the weapon, before looking up to Hector.

“Yes...yes,” she smiled, eagerly, “This is indeed what I sensed. I knew the moment I saw you that you had no potential for magical pursuits whatsoever.”

Hector winced at this, staring at her a little flatly. “Ouch.”

“This only confirms my suspicions,” Tharja noted, as if she hadn't even noticed his response. She was so caught up in the feeling of the wellspring of ancient magic before her that she probably hadn't – the dark mage was practically giddy with excitement, even if she was only showing it subtly. “I can't believe I ever doubted myself -”

“...swell,” Hector interrupted, clearing his throat slightly and shrugging, moving the axe away from her and holding it beside himself in one hand. “Are we done here?”

Tharja stared back at him dryly, seeming displeased that the axe had just been taken away. She crossed her arms, her lip in a sour pout. “Hardly,” she answered, “I still have questions.”

Hector moved to the door, rolling his eyes for the third time that day and started to unfasten and unlock the latches to the side of the door. He was starting to get the distinct impression that rolling his eyes was something he'd be doing a lot of around this sorceress, whoever she was.

“Of course you do,” he sighed, as he moved to open the door and step out into the corridor, with Armads in hand.

Tharja followed him, close behind.

 


	3. A Support: You're Already Dead

Hector couldn't remember how long he'd been alone in the Training Tower. It had started with just a few routine practice rounds, along the first few stratums of the tower, but then he'd moved up into some of the higher, more difficult levels, where he fought conjured opponents for what felt like it had been minutes and hours at the same time. He hadn't been...quite himself since the day before. He hadn't been in his right mind since he'd seen the look on the sorceress' face on the battlefield.

He wasn't sure if he'd offended her, enraged her, or...frightened her, frankly. Right now he didn't want to know. Hector wanted to do what he did best – swing his axe down hard, and splinter through a few more enemies before he called it a night. He was making his way to the stairwell at the far side of the floor, which had the conjured appearance of a grassland with a couple of ruined forts upon it. The illusion was so authentic that Hector could feel the wind around him dying down as the sun in the simulated environment started to set, and could feel the warmth of that sun's glow still on his face. He let out a deep sigh, his fingers curled around the hilt of the axe in his hand, flecks of blood all over his front and the side of his face.

Hector was so caught up in his own thoughts for the moment, and the clinking of his armor and the crunching of gravel along the road beneath his boots, was such that he didn't notice footsteps behind him, as a Plegian dark mage's shoes stepped much more quietly through the gravel as well, though the mage in question moved with more than a little determination and conviction before she came to a halt, deciding at a distance of a few feet that it was time to confront the Ostian.

“...Hector,” Tharja scowled, “Enough.”

Hector paused at the motion. His fingers curled tighter around the axe initially at the voice, but relaxed slightly when he realized whose voice was addressing him. His frown lasted a few seconds longer before he replaced that frown with a casual, light smile despite his battleworn appearance.

“...heh,” he smirked, looking over his shoulder and watching her, “Sorceress. I...didn't see you there.”

“Nor do I expect you intended to,” Tharja accused, flatly, crossing her arms and practically boreing into him with her stare. “Because I swear that you've been avoiding me since the last skirmish.”

Hector turned from her, and he tried to keep his voice cheery and upbeat though his frown returned, and though the strain in him started to break through his level tone.

“Really, sorceress?” he chuckled, dryly, “Ha ha, and here I thought you didn't have a sense of humor.”

“I don't,” Tharja answered, flatly. She moved to approach, circling him and watching him closely, trying not to give him any exit or any out from this conversation. She could tell that he'd been trying to evade her, and wasn't about to let it continue, especially not after what had happened during the last battle when they'd been deployed together.

Hector frowned at this, and crossed his own arms in respond, setting the head of the axe down on the gravel road he was on for a moment while they faced off against each other. He was quiet for a few seconds, his eyes narrow and meeting hers, staring back at her gravely.

“You're mistaking me for someone who runs away from his problems,” he noted, accusing her right back.

“Don't you?” Tharja spat, scowling in part because he wasn't cooperating, and...also in offense since apparently she was a “problem”, now.

“No,” Hector answered, looking off to the side slightly, not able to continue meeting her gaze and losing their unspoken staring contest. Which...for Tharja was in itself a sign that something was wrong, since she knew how combative he could be. “I'm not avoiding you,” Hector continued levelly, “And I'm not afraid of you.”

“No,” Tharja spat, sourly and with a little more emotion and pain in her tone than she'd originally intended, “And not afraid to die either, apparently.”

Hector froze for a moment. His eyes shut and he raised a hand to his face, his finger and thumb rubbing tiredly at his closed eyes for a moment. He knew exactly what this was about now, and it was exactly what...he realistically had been trying to avoid discussing with her.

“If I hadn't dispensed with that enemy knight,” Tharja accused, pressing him more as she stepped forward, closer to him, within inches of him, “You'd be dead right now.”

Hector swallowed, though he did not meet her gaze. He let out a long, deep sigh, and tried to feign a casual, aloof understanding of this.

“So I would,” he answered, trying to create an opening in the conversation for him to move on, “You have my thanks, now if everything -”

“I'm not done,” Tharja snapped, cutting in and not giving him room for even a moment to flee.

Hector sighed deeply at this and crossed his arms a little closely. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. Or...as close as he ever got to afraid. Frankly he just hadn't wanted to deal with this today.

“When his sword was coming down,” Tharja recalled, vividly, with a strained frown across her face, “I didn't see fear in your eyes. I saw acceptance. Almost relief.”

Hector was still for a moment before he smirked and shrugged, again trying to play off the serious nature of what had taken place.

“You think a weapon like that could have taken me out of the fight?” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I say you need your eyes checked, woman.”

“Don't insult me, Hector,” Tharja spat, again pressing forward so that he didn't create any sort of opening to evade her again. He wasn't getting away from the issue this time, and wasn't going to get out of dealing with this. “And don't think for a moment that I don't see right /through/ you.”

Hector paused and seemed...confused for a moment, before he noticed the way that her eyes shifted from his face, down to the weapon at his side, with the head resting against the stony path.

“Hector...” she spoke solemnly and with grave concern in her tone, “What did you do?”

Hector let out a deep, almost heaving sigh and turned his body away from her. Something in him just...couldn't bear to face her fully right now, especially with how intensely she'd seemed to be focused on him and on this issue of late. She knew that there was something wrong and...the way that she was pressing him, and seemed so convinced she knew, it...felt wrong of him to withhold it any longer.

“I did what I had to do,” he answered her, plainly, looking down to the axe for a moment. “It was war, and I needed a weapon. So...Graybeard Athos took me to the Western Isles while Eliwood searched for Durandal.” He sighed, reminiscing a little and wincing at the memory of the noxious fumes, of the fetid stench within the cave and the uncomfortable dampness of it all. “You could barely even breathe the air in that cave and there must have been dozens of soldiers inside. Naturally, I beat the crap out of every single one.”

“Naturally,” Tharja shrugged. That part of the story wasn't hard to believe in the slightest.

Hector swallowed, steeling himself and lifted the axe, holding it up and inspecting it and...distracting himself for a moment, making the story easier to relay.

“When I reached the weapon,” Hector explained, “It spoke.”

Tharja nodded understandingly.

“I heard the spirit of Durban,” Hector continued, “The legendary berzerker. He said he was power. Power without peer.”

“And?” Tharja asked, sensing that Hector was starting to trail off slightly.

“And...” Hector answered, finally turning to face Tharja, still holding the axe and gesturing to it, “He said that if I took the axe, my life would not end in a comfortable bed. I will die on the battlefield.”

Tharja was quiet for a few seconds, her shoulders sagging slightly as she turned away, and looked away from him. If Hector hadn't known better he might have thought that she was...upset by this.

Was she upset by this?

“I...see,” she noted, quietly, soberly, after several seconds of quiet, “So you accepted the offer.”

Hector let out a long sigh and frowned, shrugging offhandedly. “Why not?” he asked, “I wasn't going to leave Eliwood to fight Nergal on his own. I could have been dead any day of that campaign. Any one of us could have been. This was a small price to pay -”

Tharja turned back towards him, frowning deeply and still with that...lingering concern that Hector thought he sensed, as she watched him.

“Does...the Summoner know?” Tharja asked, slowly, anxiously, “Or...Alphonse, Sharena, the Commander - ?”

Hector shook his head in all cases, and put a hand on his hip, the other hand holding the axe by his side.

“They have enough to deal with,” he pointed out, shrugging again, “Sorceress, the last thing they need – and the last thing I want – is anyone worrying themselves to death on my account.”

Tharja frowned at this and turned away, clearly not pleased with the answer. She was silent for a few seconds before taking a breath and glancing at him over her shoulder.

“In Plegia, my homeland, there is a saying,” she recalled, eyeing him closely and a little intensely, “'If a man's convinced he's going to die, he'll probably find a way to make it happen.'”

Hector blinked a few times at the statement. He wasn't completely sure at first that he followed, or understood what she meant by this.

“...and in plain language?” he asked, slowly.

Tharja whirled around and took a step closer to him, before pinning her index finger to the center of his chest and staring at him intensely, and furiously.

“In plain language,” she snapped, “ I think the last thing that Askr needs is an impetuous, bullheaded axe-fighter taking unnecessary risks in battle and getting himself killed.”

Hector's eyes widened a little at the statement and found himself speechless for a moment, caught off guard by how...strongly she seemed to feel about this, and how passionately she'd just made her case.

As the few seconds of quiet passed, Tharja looked off to the side and bit down on her lip, flushing slightly at the cheeks, her shoulders still a little low.

“You're...an asset to Askr, and to this cause,” she spoke, quietly, smoothly, “And not just...tactically speaking.”

Hector arched an eyebrow at this, bordering on a smirk for a moment.

“Oh?” he asked.

Tharja nodded, somberly.

“And I think,” she added, “That it would be...unfortunate...if you were to die prematurely.”

The smirk finally formed on Hector's lips and he chuckled a little, tilting his head slightly and watching her curiously.

“Heh,” he chuckled, “I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, Sorceress.”

Tharja froze, and self-consciously turned to stare at him after clearing her throat, pointing at him again.

“Don't get used to it,” she frowned, “Now...let's get out of here.”

She turned and started to walk away from him towards the stairwell so that they could return to the base of the training tower. Hector took a step but then hesitated, wincing.

“...but...” he sighed, returning to their original point of conversation, “It's going to happen. Now you know. I am going to die.”

Tharja scoffed at this and looked over her shoulder as she continued to walk away.

“Death comes for us all, eventually,” she pointed out, “Stop trying to invite it early. And...” She paused in place as she started to think over their options. Hector started to step forward, drawing nearer to her a little curiously, interested to hear what had just occurred to her.

“In the interest of keeping your options more open,” Tharja suggested, “I'll see if I can devise a counterspell to buy more time.”

Hector blinked at this in surprise and smiled, seeming...caught by surprise and also...flattered, in his own way. While the few that he'd talked to before had often expressed concern, anger, sympathy, fear, it was...rare for someone to have offered so readily to take this on, or to try and...take this enormous weight off of his shoulders. While he wasn't sure she'd succeed – or that anyone could succeed – it certainly was one of the kindest gestures anyone had ever, or could ever, have extended to him.

“...very well, Sorceress,” he answered, quietly and with a smile.

Tharja frowned, almost pouting for a moment. They'd eaten together, fought together, and now argued together, and the buffoon still didn't know her name.

“...Tharja,” she mumbled, “My name is Tharja.”

Hector nodded as they finally passed the conjured training environment, walking together to the stairs.

“...thank you, Tharja.”

 


	4. S-Support: All or Nothing (And Epilogue)

By now, Hector knew the way to Tharja's quarters by heart. The last couple of weeks, amidst battles with enemy forces, had been largely characterized by a closeness and then a following distance between the axe-wielding lord and the dark mage. They had started to much more frequently eat together, speak together, train together, and work together, and...as much as Hector had initially found her presence unnerving he was starting to feel as if he couldn't imagine a day without the dark mage as part of it.

As quickly as they had built that closeness, it had seemed to recede, which had...bothered him at first, even stung him at first. He had come to understand that there was a certain...connection between Tharja and the tactician from her own plane, and he thought perhaps he ought to just step back and leave things be. The lord had visited her a few times in the last few days, though, and while at first he hadn't connected her absence, the tomes she'd been carrying around, and how...obsessed she'd seemed to become with her work, he was fairly certain now that he knew.

Or rather, he knew about as well as he was ever going to, and...it left him feeling very much that it was time to make a gamble. It was an enormous gamble, one upon which he was pinning his hopes, his dreams, his burdens, and...which he knew he could just as easily lose as succeed in. Nonetheless Hector felt that he'd loathe himself for not trying, or for just letting this continue to slip away.

Reaching the room, Hector paused at the thick smell of incense, scrunching his nose up slightly as he moved to knock on the door. He could see a very dim flicker, like there was a candle lit in the room, but...there seemed to be very little other movement, or little else as a source of light.

_Well, if I open this door and find her in the tactician's arms, I'll have my answer, now won't I?_ he thought to himself a little bitterly, steeling himself for the worst to follow.

He had it on good authority though that she hadn't – from what Eliwood and some of the others had told him, even Robin hadn't heard even a whisper from Tharja in the last several days, and no one had seen her outside of her room except for scant meals or to retrieve materials from the Askrian archives.

“Tharja? Tharja, are you here - ?” he called out to her, knocking on the door firmly. There was silence on the other side, or there seemed to be, but...very faintly, leaning up against the door, Hector was positive he could hear what almost sounded like a quill against parchment, moving quickly and almost...furiously. He took another steeling breath and reached for the handle, opening the door.

The air in the room felt heavy, the area humid and warm owing in large part to what looked like a cauldron or bowl set to boil in the far corner of the room, with a few smaller burners and bottles boiling as well as ingredients and reagents were prepared. The walls of the room were covered over with notes, and parchment, though the markings were barely visible in the scant light. His heart sank, all the same, as he made out one of the sheets of parchment, which looked to be a side-on diagram of a very familiar-looking enchanted axe.

_Huh. I was right_ , he thought, glancing to his side at the axe that was clutched in his off hand. He felt relieved, flattered, and disheartened all at the same time. It crushed him to know that someone had...given up so much time over the last few days for his sake. It only steeled his resolve to intervene before this could...carry on any further, or in any way that would diminish or harm their relationship.

As he strode further into the room, he almost didn't see her at first. Tharja had her cloak on around her shoulders, covering herself as she sat at the scant desk in the room, which was littered with tomes stacked one on top of the other, some of them not even closed. The shelf that she kept to the far side of the room was half-empty, and...the room, in general, looked to be in an utter state. The bed was unmade, there were clothes strewn about on the ground amidst loose pages that had been torn out of useful texts.

He moved behind her at the desk and crouched, frowning with concern and staying close enough to her that he was confident she'd hear him.

“Blast,” he remarked with a smirk, looking to the lone candle on her desk keeping the room lit, “Someone should really turn a light on in here - ”

“Don't bother,” Tharja answered coldly, a little callously, not even looking up at him as she continued to scrawl out notes. More of the axe-shaped diagrams were on the desk along with what looked like...notes in another language, and drawings of the magical aura that she thought surrounded Armads and how it could be attacked. He picked one of them up, studying the small scrap of parchment, and frowned deeply.

“...Tharja?” he asked slowly, still holding the parchment scrap as he studied it and...as his eyes started to drift to all of the other jot notes across the desk. Some of the notes looked like they'd even been carved into the desk itself.

“The light was bothering my eyes,” Tharja spoke neutrally, somberly, continuing to work away on the page that she had open in a journal.

Hector frowned a little more deeply and sighed, taking another look around the room.

“You're sure it was the light?” he asked, slowly, before his attention turned back to the pile of books, peering over at them a little curiously, and leaning over the desk beside her in the process. “I've...never seen so many tomes in one place. And the print is so small. How can you even read this?”

Tharja let out a sharp, frustrated sigh, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to maintain her composure.

“Hector, not now,” she frowned, “I'm busy.”

Hector nodded in understanding and...instead of leaving, moved to casually sit on her unmade bed, shrugging his shoulders as he made himself at home.

“Doing what?” he asked.

“The same thing I've been doing consistently since our last conversation,” Tharja explained, gritting her teeth slightly, and...forgetting for a moment what she was writing. She peered through a few notes, trying to get her bearings once more, speaking to him without even looking in his direction. “It's very tedious work. Please do not distract me.”

Hector nodded at this, and sighed deeply.

_You know, in retrospect, there's a part of me that wishes I'd found you with the tactician_ , he thought, soberly. He could tell, looking through the room and over the pages on the walls that she had put tremendous effort and focus and work into this, and...again he felt that curious mix of flattery and despair at the idea that she was trying so hard to keep him alive, when...realistically he knew it just wasn't going to work. He looked around the room once more, and...set his axe down next to him, before reaching his other hand into his pocket, fidgeting with the contents once more.

“Tharja,” Hector spoke solemnly, “I need to ask you something.”

He still didn't get up from the bed, or approach her, or move to stop her from working away. She was partway down a page when he spoke and...though she hesitated for a moment, she finally paused and turned her chair in his direction, though she still didn't meet his gaze.

“...yes?” she asked, quietly.

Hector sighed quietly and swallowed, bracing himself and fidgeting once more with the contents of his pocket. “I need to ask you to...do something for me.”

Tharja blinked a few times and turned towards him, how, her posture less sunken or distracted than it had been a moment ago. He definitely had attention, now.

“Of course, Hector, what...is it?”

“Stop,” Hector spoke plainly and...a little more coldly than usual.

Tharja paused at the statement, her mouth falling open slightly and her eyes fixing themselves on him in shock. She looked as if she'd just been struck.

“...what?” she breathed in disbelief.

“Stop trying,” Hector elaborated, frowning and watching her a little sternly. He could tell this was...hurting her, he could tell how hard she'd been trying to make this right, but...but for things to continue like this, with her burying herself in this work...it was just going to hurt them both more in the long run. “Stop trying to buy time.”

Tharja paused, her mouth hanging open a few seconds longer before she closed it and watched him with a solemn, hurt frown.

“Why?” she asked.

Hector took a deep, heavy breath, and looked off to the side slightly, finally breaking his gaze away from hers. It was hard to say, and harder still because he knew what kind of impact this was having. He'd rather have taken a javelin to the chest than hurt her like this.

“Because I don't want you to,” he told her solemnly.

Tharja frowned, her eyes starting to water, and her hands starting to curl into fists. She abruptly turned her chair away from him, her back to him, concealing just...how stung she was by this.

“Then apparently you haven't listened to a word I said,” she spat, bitterly, “And you're being fatalistic again.”

Hector shook his head at this and finally got up from the bed, approaching her at the desk.

“...actually,” he pointed out, “I was listening pretty closely.”

She was quiet for a few seconds, wiping at her eyes with her fingers and gathering her composure before whirling around and facing him.

“Then why are you giving up - ?” she asked, challenging him.

The words dug into him like blades, and he gritted his teeth, taking half a step back and looking off to the side.

“I didn't say anything about giving up,” he spoke, quietly and a little solemnly, “But trying to counter-spell Armads isn't going to do a damn thing.”

Tharja frowned and looked away at this. She took deeper breaths, something about the statement hitting close to home.

“We both know that it's not going to work,” Hector noted, passing her back the parchment he'd taken from the desk before, “It won't this time, and it probably won't ever.”

Tharja scoffed at this, still turning away from him and trying to use...haughtiness, or callous words to conceal the torrent of emotions she was feeling right now.

“...what do you know about ancient magic?” she scowled, her eyes moving over the parchment pieces on the wall like she was keeping herself busy. Her hands still rested at her sides, in fists.

Hector sighed at this and shrugged, a hand resting at his hip. He'd left Armads over on the other side of the room for the time being. This was a serious conversation, about serious things, and Armads was not tagging along as a passenger on this one.

“About magic?” he shrugged, “Pretty much nothing, but I know Armads, and Durban. They're not going to let me go.”

The way she shrank at the words conveyed that Hector wasn't the only one that knew this. Tharja took a few slow, shaky breaths. She'd tried. She'd tried everything she'd thought of, she'd researched every possible avenue, she'd...done everything right, and it still wasn't enough.

“...I don't understand why you're saying any of this,” she whispered, in quiet denial.

Hector moved to walk over to the direction that she was facing, and crouched down in front of her. Her eyes widened slightly at the gesture and she shifted, her back against the chair more as she wondered what he was doing, or what she'd gotten herself into this time.

“I don't want either one of us wasting away for the rest of our lives – however long or short that is – because we're trying to arm-wrestle Durban to the ground. ” Hector explained, moving to take off his gauntlets, before reaching for one of her hands with his. “If my life's going to end on the battlefield, so be it – but I'd like to make whatever days I've got left the best that they can be.”

As he took her hand, Tharja's breath hitched slightly and her cheeks flushed a rosy color. She had no idea how to respond to the gesture, or the attention – though, admittedly, it certainly wasn't unwelcome. It was all just...very much sudden. Hector had certainly grown on her in the last several weeks but Tharja had never picked up on any...romantic inclinations from him, or noticed that he was giving her any signs.

“I-I...see...?” she blurted, a little bashfully, as he softly squeezed her hand.

_Here we go_ , Hector thought to himself , gravely, _This is either going to go incredibly well or incredibly badly. No middle ground. This is going to be hit or miss, win or lose, and there's not going to be any in-between._

His fingers in his pocket circled around a silvery ring with a dark, ruby-colored stone in the center, and light shimmered off its numerous facets as he took the ring, gem and all, out of its resting place.

_Here goes nothing_ , he thought with a hint of dread.

“And that's why I've brought you this,” Hector spoke, moving down onto a knee, causing Tharja to flush even more in bashfulness, and shift back in her chair in slight surprise. He held out the ring and placed it softly in the hand that he'd been holding, and as he released it into her hand she eyed it curiously.

_It can't be_ , she thought to herself, _This can't be what I think it is. No, there...there must be another explanation. Why would he - ?_

Tharja cleared her throat, taking a couple of breaths and trying not to look nearly as fazed as she felt right now.

“...a Guiding Ring?” she asked, curiously, “Interesting, to say the least. I've seen magic-wielders from Elibe wear such things, and wondered about them, but -”

Hector squeezed her hand softly again, and raised her hand up closer so that she could get a closer look at the ring itself.

“Look closer,” he whispered, with..softness normally uncharacteristic of him.

Tharja was silent as her eyes moved over the surface of the ring, and the embellishments along the metal, before spotting that something was engraved into the multi-faceted gem, a symbol that she wasn't familiar with.

_If it's not a Guiding Ring, then is it - ? Is this...?_ she wondered, silently, while willing herself just as silently not to get her hopes up.

“I don't recognize this symbol,” Tharja spoke, quietly, picking up the ring with her other hand and studying it more closely. Her cheeks were about as red as Raudrblades, and her breathing had quickened slightly as well, in anticipation.

Hector nodded at this, and bit down on his lip for a moment.

_All or nothing_ , he thought to himself, steeling himself one last time.

“It's the sigil of Ostia's royal house,” Hector explained, steadily, “My house.”

Tharja paused at this and froze for a moment. She had researched far more into Armads and how it functioned so far than she had into Hector's background, or the land that Hector hailed from. She had known that he traveled in the company of Eliwood, a Marquess, and she knew that he was of high standing and probably of some noble birth, but the idea that he was a full-on lord himself, or that he was of such a high station was a surprise.

“...you're...?” she blurted, in quiet disbelief, “You? A lord?” She chuckled slightly despite herself, tilting her head almost playfully for a moment. “You certainly don't act like it.”

Hector smirked in response, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm full of surprises,” he answered.

Tharja chuckled at the response but then paused again, her mind snapping back to the fact that he was giving her this ring, the fact that Hector – Ostia's lord – was presenting her with a ring that had his family's distinct insignia. There could have been a completely rational explanation; Perhaps he sought to ask for her service as a vassal. She had observed him frequently around Matthew and Serra, and...knew that this was certainly a possibility.

All the same, something inside of her, gnawing at her slowly in eagerness, said that she already knew what the ring represented, and...what Hector was really trying to stay right now.

“Why are you giving this to me?” she asked, quietly, barely above a whisper.

With one more deep breath, letting out a long exhale, Hector looked up to her and watched her warmly, despite the torrent of worry inside him that she was going to say no. Which...for one as fearless as Hector, was saying something.

“Because,” Hector confessed, his eyes unmoving from her as he spoke, “I'd like to spend whatever life I've got left with you.”

Tharja's hand moved to her face instinctively, over her mouth in surprise, the ring still in her fingers so that the gem brushed her lips softly. Her mind was blank for a moment at the statement, and while her heart was pounding in her chest in excitement, and eagerness, it was taking her a moment to register that yes, this actually was happening. He had just asked.

“...but -” she stammered, seeming surprised, and bashful, and perhaps a little overwhelmed for a moment, “But Hector, this is...so sudden, so rash, so reckless -”

She paused at this and looked off to the side for a moment, flushing a little more warmly and biting down on her lip, with just the hint of a smirk.

“Wait,” she murmured as an aside, mostly to herself, “No, this is exactly the way I imagined you'd do it.”

Hector blinked at this in dumbfounded surprise, shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“...the way you what - ?” he asked, slowly, not having expected the revelation.

Tharja flushed brightly and cleared her throat, still covering her mouth as she grinned, just...holding the ring in one hand, still pressed softly to her lips, as her other hand stayed in Hector's, warmly squeezing it.

“- nothing,” she answered, “Nothing at all.”

She was so content, in fact, with the events that had just transpired that she completely neglected to answer the question. Sweat trailed lightly down Hector's brow, as he watched her smile, and winced anxiously as he shrugged his shoulder again, uncertainly.

“...so - ?” he asked, slowly and worriedly, after a few seconds of the sustained silence.

“Yes,” Tharja smiled, squeezing his hand again, moving the hand containing the ring to her chest, holding it over her heart. “I say yes, Hector. Gladly.”

Hector grinned at this but then paused, not altogether sure for a moment, whether she meant with respect to his initial request or his later proposal.

“To...stopping?” he asked, unsteadily, “Or to - ?”

“Both,” Tharja smiled, holding his hand a little while longer. They stayed like that in the silence a few seconds longer, their forms only revealed to each other by the light of a candle, as they watched each other closely, quietly, and intimately. Hector's smile widened a little, and he chuckled almost...nervously for a moment.

“You're sure - ?” he asked.

“Very sure,” she answered, before pausing, long enough to slip her hand from his and moving to finally slide the ring onto her fourth finger on her left hand. She could hear an audible, deep sigh of relief from Hector, and couldn't help but smile and chuckle a little at...how endearing it was that he had felt so invested in this.

“Ah...,” she finally spoke, looking to him in the quiet and the dim light of the room, “Would you...help me put some of these books away, Hector?” She moved to stand from her chair, facing him.

Hector moved to stand, as well, still very close to the dark mage. He reached for her hand, the one newly adorned by the ring, and squeezed her hand softly in his own.

“Of course, Tharja,” he answered warmly.

 

(Epilogue, because I'm garbage:)

Most of the books were still all over the desk and the shelves, though a fair number of them had been returned to their usual resting places, and a good number of the parchment sheets torn off of the walls. The two of them, Hector and Tharja, were lying sprawled across the dishevelled bed in the room. Hector's armor plates were on the floor, though he had kept the rest of his garments on, and Tharja had dispensed with her cape, but...they were contently, and quietly, enjoying each other's presences now that the most...eventful part of their evening had come to a close.

This was going to mean changes. This was going to mean a lot of changes. None of the Shepherds were likely to believe in the morning that this had transpired, and as for Eliwood, Eliwood was probably never going to let Hector live this down. How Alfonse, Sharena, or the Commander were going to respond – to say nothing of the Summoner – was really anyone's guess. Regardless, neither of the two heroes on the bed could possibly have been any more content than they were right now, with Hector lying on his back, and Tharja curled up alongside him, resting her head on his chest as he warmly, slowly stroked his fingers through her hair.

Whatever tomorrow brought, they would be facing it together.

Hector's eyes widened slightly, as...something in that thought reminded him there was a detail he'd left out. He cleared his throat slightly, wincing a little anxiously, and turned his head to face her again.

Tharja glanced up at him, lightly covered over by blankets, and arched an eyebrow with faint suspicion.

“Hector?” she asked, slowly, “Something you'd like to add?”

Hector bit down on his lip, a little deeply for a moment, before chuckling and letting out a long, slow sigh.

“...well, you should probably know,” he groaned, not altogether sure how she would take this last part, “But it also turns out I have a daughter here from the future.”

Tharja just...stared. She didn't seem especially surprised – which itself caught Hector off guard, because in what world would finding out one had future children _not_ be surprising? She didn't look especially bothered by the news, all the same, just...almost exasperated, or disbelieving.

“Hope that's not going to be a problem,” he blurted.

Tharja simply groaned and planted her face to his chest. Hector winced a little and trailed his fingers softly through her hair one more time, tentatively.

“...Tharja?” he asked, slowly.

Her groan was muffled against his chest again, before she turned her head to the side and sighed. This certainly wasn't a dealbreaker – but it was something that she was certainly going to have to prepare herself for.  Again. And...just when she'd thought that she'd left the idea of having future-children or alternate-universe offspring behind.

“...not...again...” she groaned.

Hector blinked at the statement and was about to ask her to elaborate, but...no. They were content, they were settled, they were warm, and everything else could wait until morning. It didn't feel like Tharja was going anywhere - if anything, she was holding onto him even more closely now.  

Hector turned his head towards the candle, which had since been moved to the end table next to the bed, and blew it out in a single puff.

 


End file.
